


Green-Eyed Monster

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Gap Filler, M/M, No Slash, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 02, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-28
Updated: 2004-03-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Gap-filler for 215; Michael and Justin collaborate on "Rage"; Brian Kinney doesn't do emotions, or so he says.





	Green-Eyed Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

This is an extension/gap-filler of episode 215, written for Anakin because she requested that somebody pontificate on the gratuitous Brian angst during Justin and Michael's early collaboration on "Rage". 

I also feel that it's prudent to include a quote from Hal Sparks (from the pages of "QaF: The Book", which is to diehard Folkers what "Hogwarts: A History" is to Hermione Granger of "Harry Potter" infamy) on Michael and Justin's relationship: "the root emotion of the Michael and Justin relationship is jealousy because Michael finds Justin replacing him in Brian's heart. Once that passes, they have a lot more in common." But there's more jealousy involved than just on Michael's behalf in this sordid little triangle, as we readily see with Brian's actions in this episode, and that's what I've attempted to explore in this piece.

. . .

Brian Kinney had never been a patient man. He was a hard-working man, a meticulous work-a-holic who prided himself on being able to get down to the nitty-gritty and figure out *exactly* what the consumer was looking for. He had his own set of morals and boundaries, and fuck anyone who didn't approve or agree or do any of a number of things that breeders often adhered to in their pathetic, heterosexual lives. He lived his life as he wanted it: no excuses, no apologies, no regrets, and anybody who didn't like it could kiss his ass. Because Brian Kinney simply didn't give a shit. 

And, Brian thought, as he downed another glass of Jim Beam, 'Brian Kinney does not do jealousy'. 

Emotions were something that leaked out the corners of your eyes when you felt your chest aching so much that it hurt to breathe; they were meant to be quickly brushed aside like so much paperwork, not slide down one's cheeks and cling to eyelashes like the tiny hairs were their life's sustenance. No, Brian Kinney was above feelings; rather, he refused to acknowledge that they existed for him, because everything became inescapably fucked once you factored phrases like "I feel" into the equation. So long as there were drugs and alcohol to self-medicate the painful side-effects (like that fucking ache in his chest) away, that was good enough.

So even though Brian could feel his jaw clench as he heard the soft giggles of his best friend and lover mingling in the air; even though his loft was covered in the exuberant concoctions of the two men in his life that he cared for more than anything, with explicit instructions for him not to touch, not to move too fast because he might trip over something, Brian refused to admit that he was jealous. He refused to give them - to give himself - the benefit of brooding because Michael and Justin finally had something between them that didn't automatically include him. Let them draw their fucking comic and prattle about his asanine superpowers and pretend that he wasn't there if they wanted; he didn't fucking care. 

Handing his mug to the bartender for a refill, Brian let the hazy effects of the alcohol wash over him, subconsciously clenching his fingers as he recalled the words of Ben a few moments prior. He would never have admitted to too much in the presence of living company, but Brian respected Ben; perhaps it was just that he'd hand-picked him at the White Party prior to the professor's and Michael's involvement for a quick (and fairly enjoyable) fuck, but the other man was begrudgingly good to and for his best friend. 

It had been different with Dr. David, Brian thought as the bartender set another brimming glass down on the table, winking at him before ambling over to a brunet twink sitting a few stools away. He'd wanted to change Michael, to move him away from all that he was and all that he knew; Brian may have wanted his best friend to find his own footing, but he wasn't completely ready to give Michael up just like that -- and although he probably wouldn't admit this, either, he kind of hoped he never would. 

Begrudging admiration for Ben aside, his latest words of wisdom had been unsettling, to say the least, Brian thought as he took a gulp of his drink. "There's nothing as sexual as the act of creation," Ben had mused, spreading his hands and flexing his fingers as if prepping himself for an extremely pleasurable act. "When I'm writing, and it's pouring out of me, I swear to God, I'm completely turned on.

"It's the same with Michael and Justin," he continued, taking Brian's silence (albeit coupled with a raised eyebrow) as a sign that he had his attention. "It's the most intense form of intimacy there is; not even the world's finest fuck can compare." 

Brian had frowned at that. For all his success in the advertising industry, he'd never gotten an orgasmic rush of pleasure about his work, either whilst creating it or being rewarded for it. There was, at best, a light feeling of satisfaction that passed over him as he cracked his knuckles and complimented himself because he still had it, whatever seemingly impenetrable force allowed Brian Kinney to do whatever the fuck he pleased to whomever he wanted without repercussion, but never anything as pleasurable as what Ben was describing. And, he thought darkly, he never thought he'd have to worry about his best friend and non-conventional boyfriend experiencing this mysterious creation lust together. And then Brian remembered that he didn't worry, and tuned back into whatever it was Ben was saying now.

"So have another drink," the other man finished, eyes twinkling as he made to head off to the dance floor; "while our boyfriends are cheating on us." Ben left, and Brian downed the rest of his glass in two gulps, slamming it down on the counter and staring furiously at his shell bracelet. 'I need to get my mind off of this,' he rationalized to himself. Without so much as a backwards glance at the hopeful bartender, Brian sauntered off to the backroom, tugging a slight, blond trick along by the belt loops. As the young man sunk to his knees, engulfing Brian's cock in his mouth without so much as an exchange of names, the brunet stared moodily at the ceiling. 'I don't do jealousy,' he reminded himself, and then willed his mind to shut off as the blow-job intensified. He had a feeling this would be the first of many attempts at self-medication for the evening.

-*-

Much later, Brian fuzzily headed back home, two different nameless tricks in tow. "Careful," he slurred as the guys purred and hung on each other; Brian twisted his key in the lock with a sarcastic grin. "Everything's in sequence." He half-expected Justin to still be awake, holding him to their agreed upon 3 AM curfew, hot and horny for Brian to come home and fuck his brains out. "All work and no dick makes Mikey and Sunshine dull boys," Brian had complained when they'd blown him off earlier. Couple that with Justin's accidently dozing off the previous night after pulling a 4 AM-er at Michael's comic book shop, and Brian calculated at least a couple of rounds this evening alone to fill his and Justin's usual daily quota of fucking.

"Rise and shine, Sunshine!" Brian called with exaggerated cheerfulness as he entered the bedroom area. He stopped short a few feet from the bed, cursing under his breath. "Shit", he mumbled, eyes blazing at the sight of Michael and Justin's prone figures curled atop the blue duvet. They were both fully clothed, with shoes on, even; it probably meant that they'd just dozed off or something, Brian tried to rationalize. But Michael's hand resting indiscriminately on Justin's ass, and seeing his precious loft turned into a fucking paper factory, and the quantifiable amount of alcohol swimming through his system countered this logic and won out. 

"Out. Get the fuck out, now," Brian ordered the two tricks, both in mid-dress and packing twin hard-ons. Not believing him at first, one wound his arm around Brian's neck, leaning in to lick at the shell of the brunet's ear. "I fucking mean it, get out!" he screamed. This time, they complied angrily. "Asshole," one of them hissed as Brian fairly pushed them out the door, slamming it behind them and locking it securely. 

Tripping over yet another sheet of paper on his way to the kitchen for a bottle of water, Brian angrily snatched it out from underneath his foot. In the dim light, he could certainly make out the distinct lines of his own features on the now crumpled sheet, but this did not register to him at this point. Flinging the drawing down, Brian angrily pulled a few more inked sketches off of the makeshift clothing line Justin had hung up in his living room, tossing them to the ground as well. He rampaged around the loft for a few moments, tearing at the drawings in a drunken, jealous rage, adrenaline pumping as he sneered down at the puddle of expensive printing paper at his feet. 

'They want to put their shit everywhere in my loft and not bother asking if I even mind not being able to breathe in my own home? They want to giggle like a couple of fucking schoolgirls and fall asleep together in my bed and pretend that I'm not standing right there?' Brian thought hazily. 'Well, piss on them. Piss on them!' Inspired, the brunet unzipped his jeans, waving his cock tauntingly over a sketch of his - Rage's - face. "Aaaah," he groaned headily as he urinated, feeling deliriously satisfied as the yellow liquid hit its mark right in the middle of the superhero's inked visage. Tired, spent and bleary, now, Brian made his way over to the couch, kicking off his shoes and tossing them in a corner along the way. He had a feeling he wouldn't be conscious for very much longer.

-*-

Scant hours later, Brian found himself at the diner, staring tiredly at a lukewarm cup of coffee. He'd purposely set the alarm on his cell phone before crashing on the couch earlier that morning, not wanting to be around to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Truth be told, he was starting to feel a tad guilty; telling himself he didn't *do* guilty didn't help, either. He knew how hard Justin and Michael had worked on those drawings, how evident the excitement was everytime he glanced at their flushed faces and sparkling eyes, and he'd ... what? Sneered at their painstakingly hard work and pissed on it - literally.

"Some hero I am," the brunet thought drearily. But if he thought he would be the only one taking a swing at Brian Kinney that morning, he was dead wrong; groaning as he caught Michael and Justin stalking furiously towards him, pissed-on drawing that was evidence of his treachery the night before in-hand, Brian made a show of reading the newspaper. 

"Did you do this?" Michael demanded, jaw set in anger as he glared as his best friend. Further insistence from Justin made Brian wince; the blond was not a pliable bed partner when he had his claws out. The two continued to berate him, giving him the what-for and shaking the stained drawing in his face before slamming it down on the table and making their exit; the entire time, Brian remained silent, anti-emotions credo preventing him from atoning for his actions or even snapping back with his own post-alcoholic justification for them. 

He groaned as Debbie made her way up to the counter to refill his cup. "Can you give me a minute between rounds?" he asked tiredly. "Then you can have a go at me." 

The faux redhead smiled sympathetically. "Article Fourteen of the Super-Mom Handbook states: never kick an asshole when he's down," she recited, and then patted him on the shoulder. She picked up the drawing and studied it. 

"I'm not an asshole," Brian snarked moodily. "I'm just drawn that way."

Debbie raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry to disagree with you, kiddo, but this time, the likeness is accurate," she said pronouncedly.

"I thought you weren't going to beat me up," Brian said angrily, about ready to shove his chair in and find somewhere else to sulk.

"Let me finish," Debbie cut in, just as swiftly; Brian willed himself to calm down. "But *I* understand," the waitress continued, leaning in conspiratorially so Brian was forced to listen. "'Cause you're jealous." 

"I don't do jealous," the brunet declared, scoffing. "Jealous is for lesbians."

"Well, then, you'd better start liking pussy," Debbie retorted. "'Cause you've got a little green-eyed monster inside of you that's eating your gut."

Brian smirked. "I thought that was the coffee."

Debbie smiled sadly and shook her head a bit. "I figured you'd have some smart-ass remark and deny your feelings, as always," she pressed on, seemingly unfazed. "But you don't fool me; 'cause if you didn't love them as much as you do, you wouldn't give a shit that they're spending time together and sharing something that you're not a part of." Brian made to turn his head away, but Debbie grasped his chin, pink nails lightly digging into his pronounced jawline, and he met her gaze once more.

"What you don't get," she continued passionately, "is that they feel the same way about you, even moreso. They worship the ground you walk on, or can't you see it?" she cried, thrusting the drawing in Brian's face. "You're their fucking hero! At least, you were," she finished, setting the marred sketch back down. Brian willed himself to look at it; that nagging feeling in his gut intensified. 

'I don't do jealous,' he thought for the hundredth time. But seeing the shocked and angry looks on his friend and lover's faces, and Debbie's begrudgingly on-the-mark analysis of the situation hit its target even better than Brian's piss stream had connected with Rage's face. He may not have wanted to admit that he was jealous, but to everyone else, it was painfully obvious. Fuck.

"A man has to know when to ask for help," he had told Justin once. Staring resolutely at the drawing before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash can, along with his napkin, Brian headed for home. Sometimes, a man had to know when to ask for forgiveness, too.

-*-

"What the fuck?" Justin exclaimed as he entered the loft, laid out with freshly-printed drawings.

"Everything's back," Michael breathed.

"Careful boys," Brian inserted as he stepped away from the computer, printer busily whirring as it churned out pictures. "Don't step on anything." 

"Alright, Kinney, what's going on?" Michael demanded hotly, teeth gritted. 

Brian shrugged. "I read your shit, it's fucking good," he said. "And the art is ... art. But that's to be expected," he said, glancing indulgently at Justin, who still looked unimpressed, even though his cheeks glowed with a slight warmth. 

"Don't try to talk your way out of this, dickhead," the blond spat. Yep, he was still pissed off.

"Yeah," Michael continued. "And don't think by just putting everything back the way it was that we'll forget." 

"You owe us an apology," Justin spat passionately.

"So start begging!" 

Brian sighed; the usual Kinney-isms weren't going to help him, this time. If he wanted to make this right, he was going to have to do some very uncharacteristic apologizing. "I'm sorry," he said, as humbly as he could.

"That's not good enough," Justin insisted snottily; Brian's jaw tightened.

"Yeah, well what the fuck do you want me to do," he yelled. "Grovel?" 

"Mean it!" Michael exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

Brian licked his lips nervously. "What I did was immature," he said quietly. "Childish, vindictive, an act of cruelty, based on irrational fears and unfounded jealousy. If I were the two of you, I'd never speak to me again," he added as an afterthought.

Michael and Justin studied him for a long moment. "That's ... better," the blond conceded first, corners of his mouth turning up softly.

"It's really good," Michael asserted, and then frowned. "So why is it that I prefer you when you're shamelessly unapologetic?" This time, Brian's mouth turned up. 

"Now, here's the deal," he segued smoothly, feeling more like himself, now. "Finish your work - and build up my chin, I'm a superhero for Christ's sakes," he grunted, pleased to see the reappearance of Justin's sunshine smile. "And when you're done, I'll put together a campaign that'll make every fag on the internet want to buy it." Seeing the boys' stunned expressions, he bit his lip; fuck, this humble shit was a pain-in-the-ass. "That is, if you want me to," he insisted.

Michael and Justin looked at one another, and then back at Brian. "Deal," Justin piped up again first. 

"Deal," Michael agreed. He passed by Brian to make his way to the computer, grinning. Justin followed, eyeing Brian appreciatively as the brunet intentionally bumped shoulders with him; he had a feeling the boy wouldn't be falling asleep prematurely tonight. 

'I'm not jealous,' Brian told himself as he made his way to the couch to study the newly-printed copy of the sketch he'd ruined earlier. 'I'm just passionate.'


End file.
